Sometime midmorning, as Robert and I approached the waterfront, accompanied by our respective retinues – mine, of course, comprised solely of Ed, hunched atop a borrowed gelding – I couldn't help but whistle, much to the king's visible amusement.

His grand flagship boasted three masts and four hundred oars, with ballistae and catapults running down its length and tall castles raised fore and aft. Painted with broad, alternating bands of yellow and black, its thick, bulging hull sat low in the water, and its gilded figurehead (a rampant stag) protruded out from the bow, balanced above a solid iron ram. All in all, it was a ponderous, top-heavy thing, almost impractically so, that hogged enough dock space for several smaller warships.

Sailors scrubbed its deck and lashed its sails, while dockhands piled supplies into the hold: barrels of salt pork and biscuits, casks of wine and ale, and sundry bits of miscellany, lamps and furniture and the like. Only a fraction noticed our arrival, and only a fraction of that made to genuflect, the rest being otherwise occupied.

Mind, in that regard, at least, this particular ship wasn't much of an exception. Across the fleet, provisions were being laden, the last few repairs were being completed, and hundred-strong contingents of footsoldiers were loading themselves for transit. Cranes hoisted logs and planks onto waiting freighters – siege engines had to be made of something, after all, and the Iron Islands weren't exactly famed for their woodlands – and within the harbor, since cleared of debris, support craft and requisitioned merchantmen ferried troops and cargo to the galleys anchored offshore.

"Needs a couple more tons, I think."

Chuckling, Robert slowed his horse to a creep. "King Robert's Hammer, she's named, the largest ship in the royal fleet. Took two years to build, and no small amount of gold besides." He faced me with a proud grin, like a child showing off a favorite toy. "There's not a vessel from here to Yi-Ti that can match her in open battle."

Knowing the absurd scale of this world's engineering – George really was pants at numbers – I rather doubted his assertion. Odds were some Essosi despot had a floating fortress triple its size, rowed by enslaved rivals and crewed by eunuchs in leopard skins or something. But in the unlikely event the Hammer actually managed to reach the enemy without foundering under its own weight, or capsizing from a light breeze, I imagine it would've been most fearsome, indeed.

With a grunt, Robert dismounted, shouting for his squire and tossing him the reins. The rest of the party followed suit, wincing and flinching when Typhoon dissipated into motes of azure light – really, by now, you'd think they'd have had thicker skins – and milled about the wharf until the captain, passing command to his mate, marched down the gangway to meet us.

An old-looking fellow (mid-fifties, perhaps), he carried himself with an air of pomposity, mustache waxed and doublet buttoned tight – pegged him as a political appointee, just competent enough to keep the boat from sinking.

The captain bowed to Robert. "Your Grace." He turned to me and bowed again, if a touch more shallowly. "Your Grace."

"Captain, erm … " The king furrowed his brow at his feet, before meeting him with a questioning gaze. "Wyllard, yes?"

"Indeed, Your Grace. Ser Wyllard Lyberr."

Robert snapped his fingers. "Aye, that's it. You Reachmen all blend together after a while." He then loosed a loud, boisterous laugh – his default response to most everything, and motioned towards the ship. "So, are we ready to launch?"

Wyllard's mustache twitched. "In an hour or two, Your Grace. A handful of particulars are still being sorted."

Propping his hands on his hips, Robert gave a sort of half-shrug. "Better sooner than later." He bobbed his head, spurring the captain onwards. "Lead on, then."

Wyllard bowed before trooping back up the gangway, the royal party following close behind; the horses, meanwhile, were led aboard a purpose-built transport, one of many bobbing about the harbor. Sidestepping ropes and crates and seamen, we crossed the deck towards the aftercastle, then went through an entryway and down a short flight of stairs.

Reserved for officers and nobility, the cabin took up nearly a quarter of the ship's length – the rest of the crew bunked in the hold, crowded amidst the stores and rowing benches. All wood paneling and velvet carpeting, it was illuminated by rows of clear paned windows, and divided into smaller compartments by moveable bulkheads. We filed into its large, central chamber, one-part command post and one-part wardroom, and took a moment to gauge the accommodations.

"As instructed, rooms have been prepared for each of Your Graces."

Nodding and humming, Robert and his entourage arrayed themselves around a map table and started to discuss the oncoming voyage: "Fine weather for sailing," one chimed in, "Best go around Fair Isle" another opined, and they pulled up seats and unbuckled their swordbelts and summoned refreshments.

I tapped the king on the shoulder, nabbing his attention. "Hope you don't mind if I sit for a moment."

"Don't let me keep you," Robert waved, and Wyllard pointed me towards a door, the two shortly returning to their conversation.

With Ed traipsing at my heels, I wandered over and entered my apportioned berthing. Like everything else about this ship, it was decidedly spacious, taking up a substantial chunk of the cabin's port side, all the way to the stern. A colossal hammock – three standard ones hastily stitched together – billowed from the rafters, with bureaus and wardrobes, lounges and stools, fastened along the walls and floor.

I parked myself in a comfortable-looking armchair, tilting my head at Ed as he latched the deadbolt. "Pass me the bag."

The bag in question, a well-made leather pack my pet Ironborn had slung over his shoulders, was borrowed from Casterly Rock, as were the dozen or so books stuffed within. He adopted a queer, discomfited expression when I rummaged around inside it, and fished out a garishly decorated edition of Longstrider's travel chronicles.

I read a few pages, legs crossed and chin resting on my palm, until I looked back up at Ed and met his gaze with my own. "Do you need something?" When he didn't answer, I closed the book and flourished it around, a finger holding my place. "Lord Tywin's got enough of these, he won't even notice they're missing." A chuckle. "Besides, I paid the iron price for them." I theatrically thumped my fist against my chest. "My rightful due under the Old Way."

The kid took a shuddering breath. "No, M'lady, it's the … I … "

"Go on, spit it out."

"What are you going to do?" he blurted, Adam's apple quivering. "To the Islands?"

I couldn't help but scoff a little. "I won't sink them, if that's what you're worried about. This war's not a crusade for me, it's an indulgence." The metaphor made a lot more sense in my head. "Robert and his friends, though … " Crossing my arms, I leaned back. "Can't imagine they'll be so beneficent." A shrug. "Should've thought of that before declaring open rebellion."

Ed flopped onto a curule seat and rubbed his hands across his face, knee bouncing up and down. "Ki – " He closed his mouth, furrowing his brow off to the side, then continued. "Lord Balon had a plan, you know?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Kick them so hard they'll have to set us free. The stag's a usurper, a kinslayer, so the soft greenlander lords won't fight for him." The boy stared through the porthole. "Obviously, he thought wrong."

"You're well-informed for a ranker."

Ed folded his arms close to his stomach. "My father was a captain. Had his own ship, the Cruel King Qhored." He swallowed. "Last saw him on the day of the sack, running her along the shoreline."

Ah. "My condolences."

Trembling, he rubbed his eyes. "Don't bother. He was an arse." Seems his feelings were a touch more complicated than that, but I didn't think it my place to pry. "Always so proud. 'We're iron, boy,' he used to tell me, 'and iron does not bend.'" His fist slammed against the armrest. "It breaks, though. Shatters into splinters! Clever planning can't stop some BITCH from … "

His rant trailed off, eyes widening and mouth gaping as he realized what he'd called me to my face. "M'lady – "

I belted out a laugh, closing my eyes and pitching my head at the ceiling. He sat there, torn between outrage and mortification, as my laughter slowly died down. "Bitch, eh?" Another chuckle, and the book opened back to my last-read page. "Why don't you tell me how you really feel?"

Fists clenched, Ed opened his mouth to speak, apparently thought better of it, and slouched in his chair with a sigh, losing steam before he ever truly started.

"I'd be worried if you didn't hate me. Don't worry, I'll get out of your hair soon enough." I picked up where I left my reading. "And you mine, for that matter."

With the two of us sitting there in silence, I soon lost track of time – so I'll admit that the knock on the door rather startled me, book tumbling from my hands onto my lap.

"Bloody – " I huffed and shook my head, then gestured towards Ed, who tromped over and unlocked it.

A pageboy in Baratheon livery stumbled across the threshold and timidly bowed, addressing me with a squeaky stammer. "T-he ship is departing, Your Grace. My King asks that you, um, join him. On deck."

"Huh." The book was laid atop a nearby chest. I glanced out the porthole, and sure enough, a few hours had passed, the Sun hanging high noon. "Already?" I rose to my feet and made for the door, shaking away an odd sense of déjà vu, while the page, cringing, hastened out of the room. As I passed him, Ed motioned to sit back down, though I halted him with a pointed finger. "Behave."

Then, as Ed assumed a noticeable gingerness, I followed the messenger back through the cabin and stepped up onto the quarterdeck, approaching the chattering cluster of nobles. Robert, already nursing a drink, waved me over, and I leaned against the handrail right beside him.

"Have a good nap?"

I affected a playful frown. "Could've been better. With chop this rough, I get dreadfully seasick."

Snorting, he grinned. "Well, if that's the case, do try to aim away from me."

My arrival, apparently, was the signal to proceed, and Wyllard gestured at his mate, prompting him to nod at a subordinate, who in turn raised a blowhorn to his lips and bellowed "Weigh anchor!" – why the captain couldn't have just done that himself was beyond me. Seamen hauled the chain and hung the wrought iron anchor from the prow, while dockhands untied the mooring lines. "Strike oars!" the officer shouted, and drumbeats began to echo around the hold, the Hammer slowly peeling from the wharf and paddling through the harbor.

Horns blasted and men cheered, Robert gave his most kingly wave, and banners unfurled as the sails caught the offshore winds. The rest of the fleet followed close behind, supply and support vessels sandwiched between columns of hulking war galleys.

Before long, we reached the open water, and Lannisport slowly shrank into the distance.

I strolled back towards the aftercastle.

"Leaving so soon?" Robert called out.

I turned my head over my shoulder, and briefly met his eyes. "I've a chapter to finish."